Hunter's Dance

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July

Rowan, Celia, and Miri escorted Mason to his cottage on their way home from Polaris. A fight had broken out, and his side had gotten sliced open, requiring stitches which made Dr. Andi get all hovery and frowny over his refusal to go to the clinic. And made Polaris’ younger owner, Trey, puke, while his brother, Devin, insisted Mason take the rest of the night off. And Miri got fretful, worry lining her perfect face and making her dark eyes sparkle with unshed tears. 

Mason hated it when anyone did anything remotely resembling “taking care” of him. It drove him insane. Made him itch. Care implied feelings. Emotions. Ties. All things he learned to live without long ago. Except, after six years on Stargazer Island, he knew damn well that it was just the way the islanders were. Which only made him itch more. 

This time, with the need to protect them all. And none more so than a certain tall, independent, strong-willed Roma female.

The look Miri gave him as they said goodnight stayed with him while he lay in bed. Worry. Care. Those were not emotions he was used to seeing. At least, not with regard to him. As he drifted into sleep, he wondered if letting her in was worth the risk. To both of them.

Mason stood in the middle of the desert. The sun scorched both sand and skin, nearly unbearable. At first, he thought he was back in the service, hunting insurgents. But the cloud of dust rising in the distance was not from trucks or old Soviet-Era military vehicles.

Hordes of screaming warriors crossed the dunes at a run. Like the men standing with him, Mason raised his spear, its wood tip a gleaming red in the afternoon sun. His stone dagger waited to be pulled from the belt at his waist. He blinked. Since when did the United States Army use primitive weapons?

A tall woman with the face of a lion stepped forward. She was dressed in an ancient-style Egyptian gown, dyed red. The woman held up one hand. Immediately, the descending army halted. She spoke, her resonant voice ringing out over the sands.

“My bayek! This is your last chance to save your souls. The danger to our father is ended! Ra has demanded a cessation of bloodshed. I have given you the ability to live good, productive lives. If you still choose this path, the bloodlust over peace, you turn your back on Ra and me. I will name you my enemy, betrayer of Ma’at, and evil beyond redemption. You will never be permitted the joys of the sun or the pleasures of life again. From the moment the sun sets on this day, you will be known as a scourge on the world, a plague upon all mortals. My hunters will find you and carry out your sentence. Death, with no chance of rebirth.”

As Mason watched, several small groups bowed to the goddess and left the field of battle. Many, far too many, did not. They howled in madness again, eyes red as bloodlust consumed them. The horde charged.

Mason threw his spear, grabbing another from the pile at his feet. Each missile hit its mark, and attackers fell to the sand, dead. Several of those who stood with Mason were trampled by the horde. Their enemy leapt onto the backs of others. Sharp fangs sank into necks, draining their victims of blood.

When most of his spears were gone, Mason used the last to stab into one of the charging horde. He pulled his weapon free as the man fell, then stabbed a second. Before he managed to take out a third, the spear broke. Mason grabbed the dagger from his belt. He blocked the man rushing toward him with his forearm and stabbed him in the heart. Another leapt onto his back, hands twisting his head to expose Mason’s neck. Mason reached back and threw his attacker off him, over his head. He dropped down atop the man, driving his flint blade deep.

All around the battlefield, men roared in rage and pain. Bodies littered the dunes and the sands soaked up whatever blood the enemies of Sekhmet did not consume. 

As the sun set, there was a momentary lull in the fighting. An acknowledgment that those who chose the bloodlust over their creator would never again see the light of day.

When the last of that light flared and darkness descended over the desert the hunters and damned turned on each other once more.

Mason awoke with a start. That had been a hell of a dream. He left the bed, hopping across the bedroom to grab a glass of water. Setting the empty cup down, he stared into the mirror. Just a dream. Undoubtedly induced by the violence occurring at Polaris. And helped along by the pain meds Andi had given him. He nodded once, flipped off the light, and headed back to bed.

He ignored the voice in his head that pointed out the fact that he had refused the doctor’s offer of pain reliever.